


Threading a Needle

by silkinsilence



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Teacher-Student Relationship, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-14
Updated: 2016-01-14
Packaged: 2018-05-13 21:21:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5717536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silkinsilence/pseuds/silkinsilence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nathan digs himself a shallow grave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Threading a Needle

Another text from the man he doesn't want to call his father any longer, and it's only Monday but Nathan is already fucking _done_ with the week. What do disciplinary reports matter? There's more than enough money to throw at the problem, and it's not like Prescott Sr.'s pockets are nearing empty. What does a DUI matter when every police officer in town knows who they really report to? He's always just looking for another reason to be angry with his son. Nathan's father likes to throw around threats with a regularity that suggest he gets off on them. One (more) wrong move and no family fortune, no future, no hope.

Well, Nathan can deal with it. For threats to be effective, one needs to have a willingness to follow through, and his father has completely lacked that. Every time the warning is the same, and every time Nathan gets another goddamn chance.

He really likes the gun. He feels it in his belt as he leans back in his chair in class. It presses against his hip, cold and solid, a more consistent and loving touch than his father has ever bothered to give him. Nathan thinks of the Beatles and changes his ringtone and wonders what it would be like to actually shoot someone. As if. He doesn't exactly have any enemies. Not many people in Arcadia Bay stupid enough to mess around with the Prescotts. But he wears it to school anyway, because he can, because David fucking Madsen can't do a thing to him. Nobody can touch him. He's invincible.

He thinks about shooting Rachel Amber. A better end. A less messy end. Maybe then she would have had fear in her eyes like she should have, instead of glaring at him. Who knew the bitch could even look that angry with her hands done up in duct tape and her boyfriend's drugs fucking her up? It was her fault she had to struggle so much, had to force him to give her another dose. He should have held the gun to her forehead and watched her go all pale and beg for mercy. She didn't know her place. She never did. That was why she'd ended up in the junkyard with the rest of Arcadia Bay's shit.

But thinking about her goes like it always goes. Guilt and anger burn equally hot in his stomach. He remembers the exact moment he realized how much he fucked up. He remembers the awful blankness of her eyes. Made for great pictures but terrible dreams. He buried her and then went home and cried. Damn it, he hates himself for crying. She was just a stupid slut. She didn't matter. Now she's gone and nobody cares, except for all the posters that stare him in the face.

"Nathan, let's go out tonight. Come on." Class is over. He realizes he didn't hear a word of the lecture, and his stomach drops. This is the only class he cares about.

Victoria's always smiling. Sometimes it pisses him off, but this isn't one of those times. Her hand on his shoulder is nice for a change. Her touches are the only ones in his life Nathan gets for free. He used to think about fucking her, but he doesn't really anymore.

 _Can't. Dad's grounded me again._ "Sure. But ditch your girlfriends. They're pissing me off."

"You're not the only one," she says, and rolls her eyes. "Are you coming?"

He glances toward the front desk. The only man he feels comfortable calling his father is busy in discussion with Kate Marsh.

"You go ahead." She does, and then he sits at the table and waits. His heartbeat picks up, excitement and nerves. He watches the conversation in the hope that Jefferson will glance toward him. But he doesn't. All his attention is fixed on Kate, and he's smiling more than usual. Smiling for her, at her, because of her, and Nathan hates that stupid prudish bitch more with every second that goes by.

She leaves with a smile and Jefferson stares after her, his eyes intense and focused. Nathan desperately wishes he would look at him instead. He used to smile for him, but those smiles have become rarer and rarer ever since—

"Nate." And the voice has more of an impact on him than his father ever has. He's not the rash, arrogant asshole who roams Arcadia Bay like he owns it anymore. He is just a child, and all he wants is the approval of the man in front of him.

"Yeah," he says. He tries not to let it show in his voice. The strength of it frightens himself sometimes, and the last thing he wants to do is repulse the man he calls his father.

"You weren't paying attention." It's so mild, but Jefferson might as well have shouted for the effect it has on Nathan. Why this class? He can do whatever the hell he wants in all the others, but this is the one that matters. He is the one that matters.

"Sorry," he mutters.

"Is something wrong?" He cocks his eyebrow. The smile that he gave Kate Marsh is gone. It left with her.

"Just another stupid lecture." Nathan realizes what he said a second later and hurries to clarify. "Not yours. You know. Him."

"I know," Mark Jefferson says, unsmiling. "As always."

"Why were you talking to Kate Marsh?" he asks finally.

"You're not my only student, Nate," Jefferson says, and he smiles at last. It helps a little, even if Nathan knows it's at his expense. "She just had some questions about the contest. I'm interested to see what she comes up with. She has a good eye for light, for...radiance. I always know which shots are hers right away. You can feel her optimism in them."

Nathan's hands are fists on the table's edge. His knuckles are white. He tries to think of the last time this man complimented him. It feels like an eternity. Fuck Kate Marsh. She and her self-righteous attitude need a lesson. She'll get hers.

"What does she even take pictures of? Crosses? Churches? She should just crucify herself if she wants to be Jesus so badly." He sneers, and his teacher's smile widens.

"Jealousy doesn't suit you, Nate."

"Who'd be jealous of that cunt?"

"I think Kate has qualities that a lot of people would envy. Maybe that's why she hasn't made many friends here." Jefferson turns his back on Nathan in favor of picking up a folder from the desk and sifting through it. "I think it's time to change that. You're putting on one of your little get-togethers this week, aren't you?"

The disinterest, the edge of scorn, puts Nathan on edge. He wants so badly to defend himself, but all he can taste is shame. He wants the man's eyes on him again.

"...Yeah."

"Maybe she deserves an invitation."

Nathan laughs incredulously. "What? Kate Marsh at a Vortex Club party? You think I'm gonna invite that frigid Christian bitch--?"

"I think you could teach her to lighten up." When he turns back, Jefferson isn't smiling any longer. His eyes are stern behind his glasses. And finally Nathan realizes what he's getting at, and excitement surges through him.

"You want her in the Dark Room." He wants to laugh. Fuck, it would serve her right. He can already imagine her limp and frail on the floor, her eyes pleading for a god who won't save her. That's all it is. That's all Jefferson cares about. And the jealousy is still there, but it's so much less now. She's no threat to him. Nathan's never been drugged and tied and photographed, and he _knows_ it's because his teacher and mentor respects him too much for that, respects him as an equal.

"Can you handle it?" He wanted Jefferson's eyes on him, but now they're almost overwhelming, and Nathan looks away even though he doesn't want to.

"Of course I can handle it."

"I don't want another Rachel."

Nathan has nothing to say to defend himself. He glares at the floor and feels anger and shame and hatred burning through him. Being scolded by his father is easy, so easy, because he just laughs it off and behaves worse next time. But being scolded by the man he wishes was his father makes him feel like the smallest thing in the world. He sees Rachel again, struggling, her eyes glaring up at him. Why did he have to fuck up? He'd give anything to do it over again, to have his trust again.

_"She's dead. I killed her. Holy shit. I killed someone. I didn't—I didn't want to do this. She was—shit! I just wanted her to shut up and hold still!"_

_"Nate, Nate, it's okay." Hands on him, in his hair, stroking his back, and he is a child clinging to his father for comfort. It feels so good to be held, even in this cold room, even when the corpse of the girl he killed lies on the floor just a few feet away._

_"It's not okay! What the fuck am I supposed to do now? I can't...we can't..."_

_"You were right to call me. We're going to be fine, Nate. Look at me. You trust me, don't you?"_

_He does trust him. But when he looks at that face, he doesn't understand how his mentor can be so calm. She's dead, right there, her eyes all wide and staring._

_"The police...maybe I should call the police..."_

_"Do you want to do that, Nate?" Mr. Jefferson's hands are cold on his skin. The circles are under his shirt now, and they would be more comforting if his hands weren't_ so cold. _"Do you think your father would let you get away with murder?"_

_Murder. The word catches in his throat. He's a fucking murderer. And he doesn't know the answer to that question. Even with the police in his pocket, this might be too big for Prescott Sr.._

_"Nobody has to know." The words tickle his ear. "Nobody will be surprised if some drugged-out whore goes missing. We'll just make her disappear. Our secret."_

"I can do it," he says. There won't be another Rachel Amber. He learned his lesson. He'll make his teacher proud.

"Good. I believe you." Jefferson walks closer until they're a foot apart, and his hand alights on Nathan's waist. Nathan's breath comes faster and he doesn't know what to think, not when they've never done anything here in the classroom before, but then the hand just finds the gun.

"Now do we have to talk about this?" Stern and strict again. Teacher. Father. The lines are so very blurry. "You're not an idiot, Nate."

"I'm not going to shoot anyone." He looks away, sulky.

"No, you won't. I'm confiscating this." Nathan lets him slide it out. His thigh feels unprotected without it pressing there. The illusion of power is a heady one, and now all he feels like is a child, weaponless and foolish, scolded and contrite.

"I can just get another one."

"Of course you can. And you can make more bad choices and bring it to school. If you need this to feel stronger, Nathan, you're just proving how weak you are."

The bell rings. Nathan's late for class. He waits for a nod before he stands and goes for his things.

"Kate Marsh," Jefferson says. "Friday night."

He doesn't say _don't fuck it up,_ but Nathan hears it anyway.

* * *

There's something intensely and absolutely satisfying about watching Kate lock lips with every guy the Vortex Club has to offer. His cock is standing at attention, but Nathan knows it's not desire for the little slut that's doing it. He doesn't want to be next in line. He just likes seeing her laid low. For all her silly convictions about purity and chastity, a little something in her cup and she's all eager mouth and swaying hips.

"Are you going to get in on that?" Victoria looks even nicer than usual tonight. She's wearing a different color lipstick, maybe. She's smirking as she eyes Kate.

"You're fucking kidding, right? I can do so much better." If he wanted... _needed_ someone to make out with, he's certain all the girls of the club would be lining up to get their turn.

"She doesn't look so religious now. I told Taylor to get all of this on her phone. Maybe that'll stop her throwing up those asinine posters everywhere."

"Slutty little hypocrite."

"I thought you were crazy when you told me to invite her. Shouldn't have doubted you." Victoria flutters her eyelashes and dons a more innocent look than she ever wears in sincerity. "'Kate, I think we should get to know each other a little better. I'd love it if you could come to our party.'"

"Thanks for doing that." Nathan checks his watch. Almost midnight. It's time to make good on his promise to the only person who really matters.

"Anything for Prescott Jr.," she purrs. He punches her playfully in the arm and she laughs. "Want something to drink?"

"Sure. Get me a beer." He won't be around to drink it. Victoria nods and disappears through the people. Nathan looks around for his unfortunate victim and catches sight of her. She's sitting on a chair next to the wall, her hands clutching the sides of it as if to anchor her there. Her eyes are blurred and a little bloodshot. It reminds him of _her_ again. A glance and it's easy to see that there's something wrong with her. Nathan sighs, stretches, and goes to join her before she has the chance to get wrapped up in someone else.

"You don't look like you're feeling too well." He can't resist smirking as he looks down at her. She gazes up and blinks slowly.

"I...think I might be sick," she says. "Where...is there a bathroom? I didn't even drink too much." There is something like panic on her face, but suppressed, diluted. She's right; she didn't drink much at all. But this was a foregone conclusion.

"Try standing up." He offers her his arm. She hesitates and accepts. She stands and then sways on her feet. It's hard to tell in the dim light, but she looks pale. Nathan begins to worry. He can't have screwed up. He can't. He measured the dose, over and over again. If Frank fucked up and gave him something dirty—

"Maybe I should go home." Tears are glimmering on her eyelashes. She looks lost. He can hear the panic in her voice.

"You're not feeling well. Look, why don't I take you to the emergency room?"

"You would do that?" The surprise in her voice rubs him the wrong way. She's getting what's coming to her. "Maybe that would be best..."

"Come on." He lets her wrap her arm about his shoulders and helps her walk. When he glances over his shoulder, he sees a gaggle of people watching them. Logan raises his beer and shouts after them.

"Get some, Nathan!"

He smiles and raises a hand.

He lays her in the backseat of his truck. She looks so incredibly small there. She curls up on herself and he wonders whether she's asleep. It occurs to him that he could really take her to the hospital. He could take her back to the dorm. He could keep that trust intact. He could prove that annoying note of surprise in her voice wrong.

But he can also already feel the penetrating glare on him, the weight of not one but two failures. Kate Marsh is collateral damage. Nathan craves approval far more than he cares about her. So he gets in and drives, and she's too out of it to notice that they're definitely not headed for help.

It's almost worth it, but Mr. Jefferson's smile isn't for him when he arrives at the barn and delivers his half-conscious cargo. There is hardly a word of praise at all. Nathan supposes he doesn't deserve praise for the bare minimum, but that didn't stop him hoping. So he follows predator and prey into the Dark Room and lurks at the edges of the scene like a shadow, desperate for recognition, desperate for anything at all.

It's not so different from a hospital. Needle and syringe. Drugs. All monochrome and cold. But the duct tape isn't medical, and the little whimpers and cries of the girl laying on the floor ensure that Nathan cannot forget where he is.

He wanders aimlessly about. He could go back to the party, but he doesn't want to. He wants to be here. Being in the periphery is better than being nowhere at all. He circles the first room and stares at the cans. He hears the _click click click_ of the shutter. Kate's little noises aren't so audible from over here, but he can hear Mr. Jefferson.

"Perfect. Yes, look up at me...no, a little more over here...doing very well. _Look_ at me! Keep your eyes open!"

On one of the tables lies an old note from Prescott Sr.. Nathan hates looking at it. It's a reminder that this place is not theirs alone, that his father is still real and present no matter how often and how fervently Nathan wishes him away. Down here he likes to pretend it is only him and Mr. Jefferson, like they really are father and son instead of playing at it.

"So beautiful. I knew you would be. You're better-suited for this side of the lens, Kate."

Nathan leans against the table and grits his teeth and tells himself everything is fine. He's redeemed himself with this. Rachel Amber is dust and a handful of flyers and nobody is asking too many questions. There will be more smiles. There will be more compliments. He will have his father's love again.

As quietly as he can, he walks to the other room and watches.

He watches Kate, her dim eyes fluttering open and closed. She won't remember this. She won't remember his hands on her as he repositions her, always in search of the perfect shot. It is just the two of them, Jefferson and Kate, and there is no room here for Nathan. He watches and doesn't know who he's really jealous of.

He tried, with Rachel. But that was a mockery. He knows he will never be what he wants to be.

Not to interrupt is the cardinal rule. He's only allowed to watch because he obeys it. But Nathan can't stand idly by the side. He needs to do something.

"Could I take one--?" He's cursing himself before the sentence even leaves his mouth. Jefferson turns on his heels and glares, so sharp and sudden that it takes Nathan's breath away. Why couldn't he have kept his stupid mouth shut? Why does he have to fuck up everything?

"What have I told you about bothering me?"

"Not to." Nathan's had enough paternal lectures to last a lifetime, but he still listens to Jefferson's.

"Learning is in the watching and the listening. Keep your mouth closed." His voice curls and snaps like a whip. On the floor, Kate Marsh flinches, but the blow isn't aimed for her. "Nathan...you've been on edge lately." And as quickly as his anger came, it's gone again. "You deserve a night off. Go back to the party. Spend time with your friends."

"I want to be here." He can't look at Jefferson. The man stands and strides over. His camera is held loosely in one hand. The other, he places on Nathan's shoulder.

"I know. But I don't think it's what's best for you."

There are no more objections to be made. Nathan can't stand another reprimand. So he flares his nostrils and nods, turns and heads away. He knows where he's going, and it's not back to the party. With any luck, Frank will answer his texts.

He pauses on the stairs and hears the shutter clicking again.

* * *

His hands are shaking. He can't remember how many pills he took. He's too hyped up to think about it. His head is going a thousand miles an hour. He jiggles his leg so violently that he's not sure he can stop. He didn't turn on the lights, so now it's a _real_ dark room, just him and shadows. Maybe sooner or later his father will come looking for him in here. The padlock was gone when he came in, but he was way too out of it to wonder about that.

Warren Graham. Kate Marsh. Chloe Price. And Max _fucking_ Caulfield. It's all _shit, shit, shit,_ and with every second that passes he becomes more and more certain that he won't be able to dig his way out of the newest mess. He's never been suspended before. He's never endured a lecture like that from his father before.

His heart is pounding so quickly he can feel it, feel the blood pulsing through his veins. His hands won't stop shaking no matter how hard he clenches his fists. His breath is irregular and it feels like he's about to explode. If only he could do it over again and shoot them all. He owns this town. He owns Blackwell Academy. Why don't they know their places?

He can't forget Kate on that roof. Looking up at her, all he could think about was Rachel Amber in the dirt. Why were they so fucking weak? It was just a video. Nothing even happened to her. But there she was, ready to throw herself down like Lucifer falling from heaven, until everybody's newest hero stepped up to the plate.

Kate was here, just weeks ago, lying on the floor. Rachel a few months before her, and other girls before that, and...

How many of them had ended up in hospitals? How many more near misses would there be? If Kate had jumped off that roof, would it have been his fault? He can't think about what she would have looked like after hitting the ground. It wouldn't have been his fault. It wouldn't have been his fault. He's told himself that over and over again, but it doesn't matter. Words do nothing against the weight of guilt eating him away.

He doesn't know how long he's been sitting there. He can't even really remember the drive. He remembers running into the fucking Three Musketeers in the dorms, remembers Warren Graham daring to lay a hand on him, but not much else. His memory is fragmented. Random shards burst into his mind and leave ripped edges. He sees Rachel's dead eyes. Kate's tear-stained face. Max glaring at him in the principal's office. Chloe Price trying to threaten him. His father's hands, stronger than they look.

His cheeks are wet. He's a fucking disaster. There is nowhere left to run. They're going to blame him for Kate, and he deserves it. He'll be locked up. He'll be alone.

Maybe it should have been him on the roof. Nobody would be calling Max a hero for saving him. They'd all be sorry he wasn't gone. He deserves to die, and everybody else in the world knows it. He's wasted eighteen fucking years and has nothing to show for it.

He doesn't really make the conscious decision to stand up, and when he does he almost keels over again. For an instant the blood rushes to his head, and he's sure he's going to pass out or throw up. There are stars dancing in front of his eyes. Maybe he's overdosed. Maybe he'll die like Rachel. Serves him right.

Nathan manages to make it to the light, and then he staggers over to the cabinet. Rows and rows of red binders. Rows and rows of girls tied up and whimpering on the floor.

The nausea doesn't go away.

Maybe it was never really about him at all.

There's a new name there, and he somehow feels impossibly sicker when he sees it. He pulls out Victoria's binder and opens it. The relief that it's empty is short-lived. He can't imagine her here. He can't imagine that thin needle going into her neck. It can't happen to her. Regal, elegant Victoria, the only person he dares to think might care about him, in the Dark Room.

His phone screen is blurring. He can hardly read it at all. His hands are still shaking so badly it's difficult to hit what he wants to hit.

He should warn Victoria. He should do the right thing for once in his damned life. His thumb pauses and shakes over her number. Just press it and tell her. It would be so easy. He needs to do it.

He can't do it. She wouldn't believe him.

And the man he's done all of this for would hate him for it.

It's not his fault. A lie by omission isn't a lie.

So he calls a different number instead, and hopes that he doesn't get an answering machine. For the first time he realizes how late it is. The party will be starting soon. In his current state, he won't make it. Nathan's world is ending here, in this room, in his own head. Hell, he probably couldn't even drive there without crashing off the side of the road.

"Mark Jefferson." Even through the static of the phone line, the voice makes him feel something. He closes his eyes and is, somehow, calmer.

"It's Nathan." His voice comes out choked, a sob.

"Nate? What is it? Where are you?"

"The Dark Room." He doesn't know what to say. He stares at Victoria's binder. What if it had been her on the roof? She wouldn't...

"Shouldn't you be preparing for the end of the world?" Jefferson sounds amused. Nathan wishes they were speaking in person so that he could see the smile.

"I can't. I—" His voice breaks again. Damn it. He wants to pull himself together. He needs to stop crying. His hands are still shaking like leaves in a hurricane.

"I'm on my way to the barn now. Tell me what's wrong."

"You...do you want me to drug Victoria?" Nathan's trembling hands find the binder he's looked at the most often. He flips it open to look at Rachel Amber's face again. He imagines Victoria lying in the ground. He's going to throw up. "I can't...not her..."

"Nathan! Nate, calm down. It's okay. Don't worry about Victoria's binder. I'm taking care of everything, but we have something more pressing to worry about."

"What?" The familiar voice telling him everything is fine manages to make a dent in the static of his thoughts. He's already so hyped-up he can't spare any emotion to worry about what this new problem is.

"Max and her sidekick found Rachel."

"Found...?" Nathan sinks down onto the desk. How could they have found her? How could they have known?

...What would she look like, after all this time in the ground? Would that beautiful face be nothing more than a skull? Would her eyes still stare, cold and dead, up at him?

"You said you were at the Dark Room. Does it look like anyone's been in there?"

The padlock. Was that them?

"I don't know. I don't know! We're _screwed_! What am I—what are we going to do? It's over! Everybody...everyone will know I killed her."

"Nate. Don't you trust me?"

The word _yes_ catches in his throat. Nathan stares down at Rachel's pictures. He looks at the binder with Victoria's name on it. And he doesn't know whether yes would be true any longer.

"This was a mistake. I don't...maybe I shouldn't have done any of this. I didn't want to hurt her! I didn't want to hurt anyone! Rachel and Kate and...I'm a monster. I fucked everything up. I'd be better off dead." The tears are coming quick and fast. He's only vaguely aware of the man on the other end of the phone. Nathan's talking to himself. He wishes he could shut up, make his mind turn off, do anything to just _stop thinking—_

When Jefferson next speaks, his voice is cooler. He is the epitome of calmness, even as Nathan is coming apart at the seams.

"I know, Nathan. You're kinder than you think. But that doesn't matter now. It's done. Do you think your father will care about whether you wanted to do any of this? Do you think the police will?"

Of course not. Nobody cares about him. He's dead. He's dead while he's still breathing.

"I'll take care of everything. Nobody else has to find out. I'll keep Max quiet."

_Please, no, I don't want anyone else to get hurt, what are you going to do to her? Why did this happen? Why aren't you upset?_

"And we'll leave Victoria alone?" He can sacrifice Max for Victoria. It's not as loathsome then.

"You won't have to do a thing. I'm nearly there."

The line clicks.

Oh.

So that's what it means.

Somehow his unsteady legs let him find his way back to the couch. It's more comfortable than he remembers. He shouldn't sit there. He should leave. He could run. Maybe he can scrounge away more time before the police catch up to him, before his father catches up to him, before his past catches up to him. How far could he get if he got in his car and drove _now?_

But what's the use? There's nobody left. Even if his limbs and eyes and brain were working properly, there would be no point in running. He has nowhere to go. Victoria, poor Victoria, a lost cause as surely as he is, is the only thing left to care about.

It's hard to believe that he hasn't exhausted his tears, but now they're coming down like rain. His chest heaves and breathing between sobs becomes a challenge. There will be a party tonight, and he will not attend. His world ends here, in a dark room, at the hands of the man he idolized. And he wonders whether that was the plan all along. Nathan Prescott, nothing more than a stupid boy with his parent's money. He thought someone cared. He wanted to believe it, and that made the lie so easy.

His phone is still in his hand. He alights on Max Caulfield. The texts he's sent her blur in his eyes. He remembers seeing her that afternoon. She pulled Graham off of him. She talked Kate down from the roof. Maybe, if things had been different, she could have helped him too.

Nathan doesn't really mean to press the call button, but his hands are shaking so badly that his thumb hits it. He thinks about hanging up. What is he to say to her? But he lets it ring and ring while he tries to hold back any more tears.

He gets her voicemail. For a few seconds he's silent.

"Max, it's...it's Nathan." What else is there to say? He wants to tell her everything, tell her about the way Rachel's eyes have followed him ever since he killed her. He wants to tell her that he never wanted Kate to end up on that roof. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry. I didn't want to hurt Kate or Rachel or..." Victoria. "I didn't want to hurt anybody. Everybody used me." Saying it is hard. His voice breaks again. "Mr. Jefferson is coming for me now. All this shit will be over soon." Will she know what that means? Will she be there to tell the world what became of Nathan Prescott? Maybe she won't believe him, or she'll delete it without even listening. But he has to warn her. He has to try. "Watch out, Max. He wants to hurt you next. Sorry."

The phone slips from his grip. He barely even notices. There are too many thoughts roaring through his head. He is a leaf caught in a hurricane. He will never say goodbye to his father, or Victoria, or Hayden, or anybody. Most likely, none of them will care.

Just another Prescott scandal.

His phone is shattered on the floor. Victoria won't have a warning. Maybe he'll be seeing her tomorrow in hell.

Nathan hears the door open, then footsteps. He knows the sound of those shoes on this floor so very well. How many times has he been here before? All those girls, and he was never smart enough to wonder if this was how it would end.

"Nathan." The voice draws a reaction from him, as it always does, and he doesn't know whether he wants to run. Maybe this was what he wanted all along.

"You're going to kill me, aren't you?" He keeps his voice low, but the effort doesn't stop it from breaking. He doesn't know why he bothered, not when it's obvious from a glance at his face that he's been crying. Jefferson has seen him like this before. Jefferson has seen all of him.

"I don't want to, Nate." His teacher settles beside him on the couch. He looks impeccable. Of course. He always does. The man is perfection. It's how he came so far. If Nathan had been near as solid, he wouldn't have been here. But he supposes it was his destiny to be weak. "I'm sorry it had to happen like this."

"You used me. I thought..." It's difficult to say. "I thought you cared about me."

"Of course I cared, Nathan." Jefferson looks taken aback, maybe even a little sad. It's hard to see clearly when Nathan's eyes are still blurry and his head is still going way too fast. "I couldn't have asked for a better protégé. If it's anyone's fault, it's mine. I should have taught you better."

"Who won the contest?" It's probably a stupid thing to be thinking about.

"Victoria."

Of course. He closes his eyes. "Do you think my dad will be sorry?"

There are hands on him. Nathan's eyes fly open. Jefferson has not touched him since after what happened to Rachel. He had forgotten how good it feels. He had forgotten the embrace of someone warm. It smells good, like cologne, and he's crying again. Jefferson's hands are under his jacket, under his shirt, rubbing his back. It doesn't matter where they are or what they've done. Nathan can pretend that the two of them are father and son again.

"If he isn't, he's a fool." His teacher kisses his neck, his throat, his ear. Nathan has forgotten what it felt like to be loved. "People will miss you, Nate. More than you think."

"Okay."

It feels like letting go. Nathan doesn't say anything else. His thoughts have finally slowed down. He looks at those eyes and supposes this is what peace is. It is warm there, on the couch, with arms around him, and though it hurts more than he remembers, physical pain is so much easier than emotional.

He almost doesn't feel the needle when it slides into his neck.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, and comments very much appreciated!


End file.
